


Of Gods and Monsters

by KaelsMiscellany



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1920s, F/M, M/M, Mobster Argents, Mobster Hales, Murder and Mayham, Peter at his sociopathic best, Prohibition, Witch!Lydia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-04-05
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-07 14:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,911
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/749441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KaelsMiscellany/pseuds/KaelsMiscellany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(Title subject to change)</p><p>It's the late 1920s and Beacon Hills is thriving. . .if one ignores the feud between the Hales and the Argents, and the chaos it starts attracting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strike True

**Author's Note:**

> I actually wrote the first few parts of this ages ago, but have just now decided to post it here, just to show you all I'm not dead (or at least not yet).

Lydia can here the whispers pick up as she enters _Hunter's Moon_. The eyes of everyone in the room follow her as she makes her way to the bar and she nearly glows under all the attention. She gives the bartender a smile that's all teeth. “My usual please.”

Derek rolls his eyes, but starts mixing her French 75. She takes a sip after he sets it in front of her, her eyes scanning the room.

“He's not here.”

She looks back at Derek, “Hmm?”

“My uncle, Miss Martin. He's not here.”

She gives a moue of displeasure. “What makes you think I'm here for him?” She gives her eyelashes a flutter. “I could be here for you.”

Derek laughs, then goes to the other side of the bar to serve his next customer.

In annoyance she runs her fingers over the brass of the bar, sending sparks of magic flying. Derek has the right of it anyways, he's far too broody for her tastes.

Halfway through her drink she gives into temptation and pulls out her little mirror. “ _δείχνω_ Peter.”

Her reflection ripples and disappears to show Peter Hale. It takes her a moment to spot him in the shadows but it's worth it. His dark suit tells her all she needs to know about why he wasn't there. Her eyes study his face covetously, licking her lips at the slight splatter of blood on his cheek.

A sudden bang gives her a start and pulls her away from the mirror. Derek is glaring at her, eyes electric blue. “You know the rules Miss Martin.”

She pouts, but taps her mirror to 'clear' it. “Fine, fine. Spoilsport.”

Giving the sigh of a night spoiled she quickly downs the rest of her drink, gets up, and heads back the way she came.

But there's a secret smile twitching at her lips as she leaves and whispers, “O Artemis, o Eros, may my love strike true. _”_


	2. Blood Drops

_One month earlier. . ._

As he waits he watches her servants bustle in and out. The first few lay down a tea service and food on the sideboard, instructing him to 'take whatever you'd like.' He gives the food a sniff, but he's not all that hungry.

The next brings a good sized black lacquer box.

The final brings a map, which is so large that man has to lay it out on the floor.

When the servant leaves Peter hunches down to inspect it, surprised to see the most detailed map he's ever laid eyes on of Beacon Hills.

He soon hears a woman's footsteps and stands, facing the door when it opens.

She's dressed in thin gold silk, wild red curls tumbling over her shoulders, and her scent is ripe with foreign spices. There's an intriguing look in her eyes and he gives a little bow. “Miss Martin?”

She sits and arranges herself on a settee. “That would be me, and you're Mr. Wolf's messenger. . .man.”

The once-over she gives him, and a spike in her scent, has his wolf sitting up and taking notice. Though he doesn't really understand the need for a pseudonym, she knows exactly who he's working for.

“His brother actually.”

She claps her hands together. “Ah, another Mr. Wolf!” Her smile is all teeth. “An unattached one at that. . .and one who hasn't partaken in my hospitality?”

Her tone's still light and airy but the glint in her eyes, and a burst of salt smell, says differently. Peter's sure that there's something that should be frightening about that, but Peter's never been good at being scared. Regardless he curses his forgetfulness, more than certain if anyone else from the family were there with him he'd be getting a beating; except for maybe Derek, but only because his ill manners were famous in Beacon Hills; Peter's nearly certain the boy's fey-touched.

He bows low. “My sincerest apologies, I forgot myself.” He straightens and walks over to the side table, grabbing a scone of some sort and nibbling on it.

Miss Martin looks mollified and he relaxes, he hadn't even know he'd tensed, now they can get back to business. She beckons him forward. “Let us begin shall we?”

As he walks towards her he grabs the small cloth bag from his pocket and sets it on the table next to the lacquer box. She holds out a delicate hand. “My payment.”

It takes him a few moments to find his billfold, but when he pulls it out she looks insulted. “Don't be so crass Mr. Wolf, I'm not a whore or an oracle. Your hand will do just fine.”

He puts his billfold away and gives her a look. “I don't know about you Miss Martin, but I quite like my hands.”

She laughs, and it sounds like silver bells. “Don't worry Mr Wolf, I'm not going to cut it off.”

Gingerly he extends his hand over the table and watches her open the box and pull out a small gold needle. She turns his hand over palm side up and pricks the center of it. Before the wound can close her mouth is there sucking at it.

It's only two heartbeats later, but it feels like an eternity. When she finally pulls away her cheeks are flushed and her eyes are sparkling. “Mmmm Mr. Wolf, that's quite the kick you have there.”

He's not very good at being embarrassed either and inclines his head. “Thank you Miss Martin.”

She smiles again, this time with less teeth as she cleans off the needle. She hands him another piece of cloth and he blinks at her confused. “For your hand.”

He looks down at it to see a circle of lipstick around where the prick used to be. For a moment he's reminded of his gran's fairy ring stories. He takes the cloth and wipes his hand clean.

She grabs the little bag and upends it on the table, a bloodied swatch of fabric and a few golden hairs fall out. “This will take a few minutes, you should sit down.”

“I'll stand thank you.”

Miss Martin shrugs and gets down to work. Almost as soon as she starts mixing herbs and other things Peter can tell he's watching at master at work. Even if the paste she's making stinks to high heaven. The smell gets even worse when she puts the hairs and fabric in and lights it all on fire. She wafts the smoke in her face and inhales, several times.

Finally it seems they'll be getting down to the important part. She picks up a thin silver chain with a pale pink rock at the end and walks over to the map. “Do you know her full name?” She asks as she toes off her slippers.

Peter gives a start at the gender, _guess she really is magic_. “Katherine Marie Argent.”

She surprises him by not reacting to the name, she just steps onto the map and begins swinging the pendulum. “ _βρίσκω_ Katherine Marie Argent.”

To him her movements seem erratic and confused, she'll take a few steps in one direction only to backtrack and head the other way, swinging her pendulum all the while.

He can't see what part of town she's standing in when the pendulum freezes. She drops the chain and the stone hovers where it stopped. “If you could hand me a pen and paper please.”

He grabs both of a side table and trying to avoid stepping on the map he hands them to her. She jots down something and then steps off the map. The stone hits the ground with a soft thud. She hands the paper to him, “and there she is.”

The address is familiar to him, it's in the old district, near the original Whittemore house. “Thanks.”

Peter turns to go, but she calls him back. “I should warn you she's protected by China.”

He frowns, “What?”

She gives a small exasperated sigh. “They're small French guardian spirits, they like to inhabit bits of porcelain.” She makes a circle with her thumb and forefinger. “They're small, but they're likes bees. One or two arn't a problem, but a whole swarm can kill you.”

“And you're suggesting I should. . .”

Miss Martin brightens. “Get a protection charm from me. I'll give it to you for a kiss.”

Peter wonders if his brother always has to deal with such strange bargains, but nods.

“I'll be right back.” She disappears into a different room than the one that she entered from, and emerges about a minute later. She opens her hand with a flourish to reveal a small copper disk inscribed with various symbols.

He reaches to take it from her but she pulls her hand back. “Ah, ah. You have to pay first.”

He knows that she's expecting a kiss on the lips, but her price never specified where. So with a mischievous grin he takes her free hand and raises it up, laying a brief, open mouthed kiss to her wrist.

For a moment she looks angry, then her toothy smile returns. “Oh you are a clever man, Mr. Wolf. I'll have to keep my eye on you.”

He returns it with a wolf-smile. “I look forward to it.” With a quick movement he takes the charm from her hand and turns to leave.


	3. Raspberries

The first meeting between Afanasy 'Stiles' Stilinski and Lydia Martin went something like this:

He is eight and a half and wandering around in the woods. His wandering is aimless until he hears the voice of a young girl. “. . .hush, hush, hush.”

Curiosity picks at him and he tries to get closer. “Where, oh where are you raspberry bush? You whisper so quietly, all the woods hush, hush, hush.”

The girl is pretty with wild red curls and dressed in a simple white smock. Stiles tries to creep closer, but his usual clumsiness kicks in and he nearly stumbles into her.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry.” He says as he picks himself up.

“Why? You didn't run into me.”

“Uhh.” She has really pretty hazel eyes. “What were you doing?”

She smiles, “it's my birthday and I'm looking for raspberries.”

Stiles wrinkles his nose, “but raspberries don't come in until summer.”

Her smile turns mysterious. “They'll come if I want them to, I just need to find a bush first.”

Having nothing else better to do he asks, “can I come with you?”

She nods then starts swinging a small silver chain with a small pink stone at the end. “Where, oh where are you raspberry bush? You whisper so quietly, all the woods hush, hush, hush.”

A few weeks later he realizes she is one of the Martins that Father Jones says are all heathens and devils, but he's already smitten, so he doesn't stay away.

-

In all honesty Stiles doesn't understand why Lydia is friends with him. Even with the local church set against them the Martins are one of the four founding families of Beacon Hills, and he's just the son of the barely tolerated Russian sheriff. He's had years to try and find it out, but the answer stills evades him.

So no matter how many times she does it, her appearing at the police station to swoop him up still manages to surprise him. The wild look in her eyes is a bit terrifying but other than that she's her usual self. Which means she grabs him by the collar of his uniform and starts to drag him out of the station. She waves at his dad as they pass the front desk, “I'll have him back in about an hour!”

His dad just sighs.

-

By the time they get to the nicest restaurant in town she's practically vibrating with excitement and little sparks of gold keep flying off her hair.

“I found him!” She nearly crows after they're seated.

Stiles sighs, he's heard this song and dance before. “Yeah, well remember the last time you thought you'd found him? He dumped you and you made him spit snakes for a week. Lucky you that his parents were willing to pay your fee and didn't tell Father Jones about it. Otherwise your death would be the bedtime story of children around here for generations to come.” Stiles has resigned himself to the fact that Lydia will one day end up on the receiving end of an angry mob.

Lydia glowers. “You're over reacting again, you're going to give me a headache if you keep it up. Jackson was a mistake,” she waves a hand. “And anyways that was years ago.”

“So how did you meet him?” Stiles will play along for now.

“He came in this morning with a finder.” She gives a cheeky grin. “And he was quite the flirt. Got him a protection charm and he kissed me here.” She proffers her wrist, as if for his inspection. “Not even you resisted laying one on the lips.”

Stiles will give her that. Despite the fact that the Martins are technically social pariahs thanks to their 'pagan ways'; every guy his age, and more than a few not would do anything to kiss Lydia Martin. “So who was he looking for?”

Lydia's answer is delayed by the waiter coming to take her order.

“Can't tell you,” she sing-songs when the man finally leave.

Which meant it had been a Hale, who was probably planning to do something illegal with whoever'd been 'found'. He groaned and 'thunk'ed his head against the table. “What is it with my best friends and Hales?”

He doesn't need to see Lydia to know that little fact has intrigued her. “What's Scott want with the Hales? Laura's already married, Cora's a bit young for him, and I didn't think he was a three-letter man.”

“He doesn't want to be with any of the Hales,” he refuses to lift his head to look at her. “He just wants to work for them. Them and their stupid-fast cars.”

Lydia just laughs.

Stiles finally rights himself. “So which Hale have you apparently fallen for?”

She shrugs. “Never got his first name, but he's Alexander's brother.”

His head hits the table again. “This cannot be my life.”

Her voice is covetous, can a voice even be covetous? “You know who he is?”

And of course now that she knows he knows she'll never stop bugging him until he tells her. Not that he ever intended to not tell her. “Seriously you're head over heels for Peter 'left hand' Hale?” And now that he knows who, he's got a pretty good idea of the 'why' he came to Lydia.

He'd want to find whoever almost killed his sister-in-law and her three month old son too. Taking a deep breath he tries very hard not to remember the crime scene from a few days ago. Lucky him he has Lydia, and the arrival of their food, there to distract him. Though he finds he isn't really that hungry.

“Peter Hale.” The way she says it makes him uncomfortable, like it's the only name that matters. She'd liked Jackson but it hadn't been anything like this.

“Lydia you're scaring me.”

She laughs again, like it's nothing. Like she doesn't really care what he thinks, like he's just a toy.

With more force that he'd intended he grabs her wrist. She stares at it, uncomprehending. “Lydia Artemis Marinos look at me.” It had been her gift for his eighteenth birthday, 'Names have power Stiles use it well.'

And she does.

For a moment all he sees in her hazel-green eyes is fear, and for him it drives in the fact that this is not normal, even for a witch, even for her. But it's quickly covered up, by her usual coyness. “Stiles, let go.”

He does and she goes back to eating, as if nothing had happened. This, at least, is usual behavior for her.

They finish the rest of their meal in silence.

During the walk back to the station they talk about banal nothings. Scott's obsession with cars, the mysterious new veterinarian, her upcoming trip to the bay area, and whether or not Allison Argent will finally say yes to Jackson Whittemore.

They're standing in front of the station when Lydia resurfaces their original conversation, albeit a slightly different tact. “I think I might go to Hunter's Moon this weekend, would you like to come?”

Before she dated Jackson he would have thought this was her asking him out on a date, but after the whole snake thing he's willing to let his crush stay a crush. He shrugs, “why not. I'll be interesting to actually go there for myself.”

The only trips he's made to Hunter's Moon have been to pick up his father when he's gotten too drunk to walk back himself. Stiles himself has never actually taken the Hales up on their open invitation.

Lydia smiles, “alright then. See you Friday at seven.” She turns to go but calls back, “oh and tell Scott that if he wants some luck with the Hales he should stop by for a charm.”

Stiles is pretty sure that will never happen, Scott is far too religious to even entertain the thought, but he says he will anyways. He nods to his father in greetings when he enters. Then goes back to his desk and tries to concentrate on work, though his mind is too much a wash of conflicting thoughts for him to get much done.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone knows a good site that gives Romanization of Greek words I would be very happy.


End file.
